• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Again, she didn’t answer. Her hand was throbbing bad now, she was sick to her stomach about her house and so mad she wanted to spit nails. Did she want backup? Sure, you always had backup, always. She just couldn’t believe that she hadn’t been the one to think of it.

She blew out her breath and dialed 911. “Linnie, how are the kids?”

“They’re locked in a cell with Mort, the cleaning guy.” There was a pause, and Linnie said, “He’s teaching them how to play poker. They’re distracted and that’s for the best. And yes, they’re in dry clothes and they’re warm. Everything’s okay here, Katie. We got this place lit up like Christmas, and there are four of us here, ready to bust heads if those creeps show up.”

“Thank you so much for coming in, Linnie. Okay, here’s the deal. I want four deputies, Wade in the lead, out at Reverend McCamy’s house.” Linnie, of course, already knew they were on the way. Katie imagined that she’d spoken to every one of the deputies. “Listen, Linnie, this is very important: Tell Wade not to use sirens. I want a silent approach and I want them to stay outside and search for the guys who bombed my house. Tell them to be very careful.” She paused, smiled a bit. “Give the kids a kiss.” She flipped her cell off. “Turn here, Miles.”

Miles was hunched over the steering wheel, trying to see through the rain and the fogged windshield. “He wants Sam beyond reason or else he would have given it up. This has nothing to do with money, this has to do with a madman, and what a madman believes.”

That sounded simple, and exactly right, Katie thought. She said, “He must be well over the edge now, surely what happened tonight proves it. I wonder who he found to do this on such short notice. It’s got to be someone local, maybe someone from his congregation.”

“I wonder if there were two guys or just one. The ability to talk just one member into doing something this crazy, much less two guys, boggles the mind. You said he was charismatic. I guess this proves it.”

“When you put it like that, I guess one guy makes more sense. Still, we’ve got to be really careful.”

Katie rolled down the window and stuck her hand out. “It’s not raining as hard.”

“Your hand okay?”

She didn’t answer, just pointed to the big Victorian house that had just come into view. “We’re not leaving without answers this time, Miles.”

32

The only sound they heard when they got out of the truck was the rain and the rustling of wet leaves. It was cold and there was no moon, not a single star, just fat bloated clouds, probably gathering energy for another deluge. There were no lights on in the big Victorian house.

They were wet. Katie’s hat was still clamped down on her head, her hair coming out of its French braid, the white bandage on her hand soaked with rain. She could feel her boots squish as she walked.

Katie rang the doorbell, such a mundane thing. There was no answer. She rang it again, then once more. She was smiling, as grim as Jesse Helms if he’d been a judge. Finally, she slammed her fist against the large wooden door.

She kept pounding until, at last, Reverend McCamy’s angry voice shouted, “Who is this? What is going on here? Go away!”

The door jerked open. Reverend McCamy, dressed in pajamas, dressing gown, and bedroom slippers, stood there, his face a study of anger and something else, something that was beyond what they could begin to understand.

“Who is it, Reverend McCamy?”

They heard the light sound of footfalls coming down the stairs. Elsbeth McCamy came to stand beside her husband, staring at them.

She was wearing a pink silk robe that came only to her knees; it was obvious she was wearing absolutely nothing underneath. Her feet were bare. Her hair was tousled around her face and tangled down her back, and for once, she wasn’t wearing her earrings.

Reverend McCamy, his dark eyes fathomless and sharp, raised his hands to his hips, and stared at them. They stared back. Finally, he said slowly, “What is the meaning of this, Sheriff?